Revelations
by Burked
Summary: An incident at a crime scene sets off a series of revelations between Nick and Grissom. GS at end.


**Title:**  Revelations

**Author:  **Burked

**Disclaimer:  **CSI is a registered trademark of CBS, Inc.  No infringement is intended.

**A/N:**  As usual, many thanks to Mossley for betaing this for me.  If there are still typos or grammar mishaps, blame me – I don't always follow instructions well.  I wrote the bulk of this well prior to the past few episodes.  I realize that the timing of the recommendation and Grissom's talk with Lurie is different in the series, but I chose to leave it rather than rewrite it.  I know that the odds of CSI working out the "promotion" issue this way are somewhere between zero and a negative number, but a girl can dream, can't she?  

* * * * *

Nick Stokes was strutting through the crime scene at the side of Gil Grissom, when he abruptly stopped short, freezing as if turned to stone.  Grissom pivoted, frowning first in annoyance, then in concern, when he saw Nick's face, pale as death, with a thin sheen of sweat starting to break out on his forehead.

"Nick?" he called.  "What's wrong?  Are you okay?" he asked, walking back the few steps to him.

"Nick?" he called again, getting no response, not even a flicker of recognition that he was speaking.

"Nick!" Grissom said more forcefully, grasping him on the shoulder, shaking him a bit.  

The young CSI slowly turned his head towards Grissom in a daze, but couldn't seem to take his eyes off the woman standing at the other end of the room, answering the deputy's questions.  He heard her name, and he knew then he hadn't made a mistake.  He had recognized her, even after all this time.

Grissom physically turned Nick around and slowly pushed him towards the door.  Once outside, he tried again to get him to explain what had possessed him, to no avail.  

Instead of answering Grissom's probes, Nick's eyes began to flit around in desperation and his respiration rate increased even more.  Grissom could recognize the look of building panic, and then Nick suddenly ran over to the far edge of the lawn, falling to his hands and knees, vomiting violently.

"My God, Nick, tell me what's wrong!" Grissom said, kneeling next to his CSI, putting a hand on his back as he coughed and spat the bile from his mouth.

"Get me out of here," was all that Nick could say, choking on each word.

"Wait in the SUV for me.  I'll process the scene," Grissom offered, helping him stand.

"No.  I've got to get away from here.  Right now!" Nick barked hoarsely, his black eyes begging Grissom for an understanding that he couldn't have.

Grissom couldn't comprehend what was happening, but he knew that Nick had never refused an assignment before, and there was nothing in the least gruesome about this one, a home burglary.  Nor was there anything so time-sensitive about it that it couldn't wait a few more minutes for another CSI to get there.

After he put Nick in the passenger seat of the SUV, he walked around to the back, loading their equipment, and then placing a quick call.

"Catherine, I need someone to come take over our crime scene."

"Okay.  I'll round someone up.  What's going on?"

"I don't know.  Nick's having some sort of panic attack.  I've got to get him away from here."

"What caused it?" Catherine asked, her voice turning sharp with concern.

"I have no idea.  We were just walking into a house when he practically went catatonic.  I had to help him out, and then he threw up and told me he had to leave.  I need to get him somewhere else and calmed down so that I can get to the bottom of this."

"Gil, is this any sort of child molestation case?" Catherine asked.

"No.  Why do you ask?"

"We all have our hot buttons.  Everyone knows how you feel about cases involving kids, drugs and domestic violence.  We know how Sara's going to react to abuse against women, especially rape.  For Nick, it's molestation."

"I've never noticed it causing him this much trouble in the past, unless there's something you're not telling me."

"Luck of the draw, or maybe your own philosophy, but you usually put one of us women on those cases.  He's only had one, and it started off as a death investigation.  He had a hard time staying objective, but he pulled through."

"Catherine, is there a reason for his sensitivity to that particular kind of case?" Grissom asked, trying to be as delicate as possible.

"Is there a reason you're sensitive to the cases you are?" she shot back, not answering his question.

"Yes, as a matter of fact there is," Grissom answered defensively.  "I have a problem with people taking advantage of other people who can't defend themselves."

"Well, Nick's got the exact same problem," Catherine countered curtly.

"Okay, Catherine.  I only asked so that I'd know if there was anything I should or should not address when we talk about this."

"Nick will tell you if there's anything he thinks you need to know," she returned cryptically.

* * * * *

The drive back was quiet.  The lack of any sound was so pervasive that it seemed to actually swallow even the ambient street noises, creating a silent vacuum.

Grissom felt a need to say something, to know what had done this to the young man, but he wasn't sure how to approach him.  He'd repeatedly asked what was wrong, never receiving an answer, so he doubted that he would now.  

Grissom was normally not expressive, but didn't mean that he couldn't be empathetic, at least in the sense of feeling the emotion of someone he cared about.  Nick's anxiety attack and subsequent withdrawal was frightening and frustrating to Grissom, especially since he had no idea what had caused it.  

Nick didn't notice that they had passed the lab, still heading east on Tropicana Boulevard.  Grissom took the Boulder Highway south for a few miles before turning east on Lake Mead Drive, then south on Lake Mead Boulevard.  He pulled into a picnic area on the eastern shore of Lake Las Vegas, a smaller lake just to the west of Lake Mead.

Parking the SUV facing the small lake, Grissom killed the engine, then settled back in his seat, leaning against his door.  He studied Nick, who seemed almost oblivious that they had stopped, much less where they were.

In front of them, the sky was clear and the moon was full, its beams scampering across the wind-blown waves of the lake.  The water looked as black as India ink, as did Nick's eyes in the darkened cabin of the SUV.  

Grissom exhaled, leaning away from the door to open it, then made his way around the truck to open Nick's door.  He set a hand gently on his shoulder to rouse him, urging him, "Let's go for a walk, Nick."

The younger CSI slid out of the vehicle, not meeting Grissom's eyes.  His mind had been reeling from the shock he'd experienced, but now it was joined with other emotions:  fear, guilt and embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," Nick whispered hoarsely as they began to amble slowly along the shoreline.

"Can you tell me now what happened?" Grissom asked, watching their path instead of looking at the young Texan.

"I ... I don't think so," Nick said, also looking down, occasionally swiping across his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to hide that they were filling with tears.

"Nick, I don't know what to do to help you, if you don't talk to me."

"It's not that I don't want to.  I just can't," he rejoined, his frustration with himself and the situation obvious.

Grissom felt an instant recognition of the feeling of wanting to unburden oneself, but being unable to make the words come out, no matter how hard one tried.

"What if I ask questions that you can answer with 'yes' or 'no'.  Would that help?"

"I don't know," Nick said, sniffing.

"Let's try.  Is the problem the type of case it was?"

"No."

"Okay.  Did you see something in the room that upset you?"

"Kinda."

"Something you saw kind of upset you?  It was a pretty typical living room.  I don't remember anything at all unusual about it."

Nick shook his head from side to side, letting Grissom know that he wasn't on the right track.  Grissom walked along silently, replaying the entrance into the house, turning to see Nick frozen, staring ... staring ...

"It wasn't a thing, was it, Nicky?  It was a person."

Nick nodded, his hand making more frequent trips across his eyes, his sniffling more pronounced.

"There were only four people in that room:  you, me, the deputy and the victim, Bobbie Jo Cornelius."

At the name, Nick stopped walking, turning to look out across the lake.  His jaw was set squarely, the small muscles along the side of his face tensing into cords that showed through the skin.

"You know her?" Grissom asked, walking up to stand next to Nick, who nodded his assent.

"From another case?"

"No," Nick managed to squeeze out through constricted vocal cords.

"So this isn't really related to work, is it?" Grissom asked.

"No," Nick answered, wondering if that signaled an end to the conversation.  If it wasn't directly related to the Crime Lab, perhaps Grissom would drop the subject.  But Nick knew he'd probably still be censured for demanding to leave the scene.

"What's so frightening about a middle-aged woman?" Grissom wondered aloud.

Nick turned to him, his moist eyes flashing in anger, but that emotion was soon supplanted by one that Grissom recognized all too easily – hurt.

"Nick, I'm not belittling whatever is upsetting you.  I'm trying to figure it out.  It was an honest question, nothing else."

Nick turned back to the lake, his head bobbing a quick acknowledgement.

"Can we go back to the lab now?  I'd feel better if I was busy," Nick beseeched, his eyes turning briefly towards Grissom's, but unable to tolerate the contact for very long.

"Sure, Nicky.  If that's what you want," Grissom agreed, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

For a moment, Grissom reminded Nick of his father, a demanding but loving man.  Though Grissom was at least fifteen years younger than his father, in some ways he was very much like him.  

His father was for many years a District Attorney for Dallas County.  He instilled in all of his children a respect for the legal system, if nothing else.  He was very intelligent, and could process information quickly, much like Grissom could.

He loved Nick, his youngest child, just as he loved all his children, but Nick had often felt that he was a disappointment to his father.  Not all seven children were as intelligent as their father, but Nick was the least like him.  

Nick tried to compensate by being outgoing and athletic, which is often more highly valued in Texas schools than academic performance.  It wasn't enough to make him feel equal to his siblings, but it was enough to pay for four years of college at Texas A&M, which at least had the reputation as a good school.

A couple of his brothers had also gone into law enforcement, but Nick found he wasn't interested in direct competition with them, so he left the police force to enter forensics.  For him, it wasn't a lifestyle like it was to Sara and Grissom.  It was a means to an end, a way to get respect.  He could get together with his family and not feel like he was the underachiever of the group anymore.

He hadn't told them about applying for the lead CSI position – he didn't want to feel like they expected it all along if he didn't get it.  If he got the promotion, he'd call everyone in the family, to prove that he was not only smart enough to be a criminalist, but also had succeeded in earning the lead position.

Walking next to Grissom back towards the SUV, he once again had that feeling of being a disappointment.  Nick knew that he was probably Grissom's least favorite CSI in some ways, though he had to admit that he rarely seemed to have to suffer because of it, just as his father had never really treated him any differently from the other children.  Grissom had never embarrassed him in front of the other CSIs, and even his reprimands always took on a fatherly tone.

Catherine was the most experienced, and only time would get him to where she was now, but she hadn't applied for the position, probably because of the problems she'd had lately, between the lab explosion and her father getting away with murder because she compromised the evidence in the search for her own past.

Warrick was much more intuitive than the other CSIs, but his science skills weren't up to the same level in many areas.  Nick never could understand why Grissom seemed to favor Warrick – they seemed to be nothing alike, other than the fact that Warrick tended to be quiet and serious, like their supervisor.

Sara was another matter, though, and Nick was worried about competing with her for the promotion.  Her solve rate was higher, as were her evaluation scores, he assumed.  He had areas that Grissom had scored "Needs Improvement", and he doubted that she had anything other than "Satisfactory" or "Outstanding" on her evals.  Nick knew that Sara would be angry – either with Grissom or with herself – if she didn't score well on her evaluations, and since he'd never seen her upset when she received her marks, he assumed that they were exemplary.

She'd never once compromised an investigation – something that not one of the other CSIs could say, including Nick.  She was also the one most like Grissom, in that she ate, drank, slept and breathed forensics.  

But Nick was also aware, as was everyone else in the lab, that there was a lot of tension between Sidle and Grissom.  She had become increasingly rebellious, sometimes openly so.  Nick didn't know what had happened to sour the friendship between Sara and Grissom, but he had to admit that it played into his favor.

Nick cursed his luck for running into Bobbie Jo at the crime scene that morning.  Until then, he thought that he still had a hope of besting Sara.  She knew more, but she'd become increasingly volatile, and her people skills had become almost as poor as Grissom's.  The lead CSI position would require leadership, and her recent attitude could weigh against her.

But now that he'd felt he'd made a fool of himself in front of the man who would be making the recommendation, Nick was crestfallen.  Not only had he been forced to confront a demon from his past, but he'd reacted badly, embarrassing himself in the process.  

He had allowed his emotions to betray him, but worse still, he had abandoned a crime scene.  He was pretty sure that Grissom wouldn't be able to overlook that.  How could he lead others if he couldn't be trusted to do his job and keep control over his emotions?

"I'm sorry for disappointing you," Nick finally said, as they broke away from the water's edge to turn back towards the picnic area.

"You haven't disappointed me, Nick.  Something happened to you back there, and I want to understand it so that I can keep it from happening again."

"I know.  You can't have me leaving crime scenes because of personal issues," Nick said resolutely.

"That's not what I meant," Grissom said, frustrated that he'd apparently miscommunicated.  "I meant that I want to keep it from happening again because it upset you.  Other people can process the crime scene.  I'm worried about you, not about it."

"I swear to you that it'll never happen again," Nick said firmly, his face setting into a hardened mask of determination.

"That's not my concern, Nick," Grissom exhaled.  "You're my concern.  You.  I want to understand you, to help you."

"I don't think you'd really be comfortable with all of this, Griss.  It's sort of one of those emotional things that you don't like," Nick said, shrugging.

"Nick, I can't promise that I'll be comfortable with it.  Hell, _you're_ not comfortable with it.  But that doesn't mean that I'm not willing to listen."

"You have secrets.  Right, Grissom?" Nick asked, seemingly out of the blue.

"I suppose everybody does," Grissom answered, already beginning to feel the discomfiture that Nick had warned him about.

"How bad are your secrets?" 

"I don't know that they're good or bad, per se.  They're just personal, like how I feel about things," Grissom answered.

"You don't have any secrets that you'd be embarrassed if anyone knew?" Nick asked, unbelieving.

"Well, that's a different question, Nick.  Yes, I have secrets that I guess you could say I'd be embarrassed of.  Not that they are necessary embarrassing in and of themselves, but I'd be embarrassed for other people to know," Grissom admitted.  "They're private, and it would make me uncomfortable to have them revealed."

"I bet I know one of your secrets," Nick said, looking out across the lake, leaning back against the front of the SUV.

"How does this help you, Nick?  Will it somehow make it easier for you to talk to me if you think you know something about me that no one else knows?  Is that what this is about?" Grissom asked uneasily.

"Oh, I'm not the only one who knows," Nick said, shaking his head.  "That's what's funny about this secret.  You think it's a secret, but really it's not."

Grissom turned from Nick, joining him in leaning against the SUV, peering at the jagged white moonlight that cut a series of lightening bolt paths across the water.

"What has this got to do with you?" Grissom asked.

"Nothing.  Nothing, really.  Just talking, I guess."

"Does your secret have to do with the victim at our crime scene?"

"Victim?  Victim?" Nick shouted, losing his temper.  "Don't ever call that woman a 'victim'.  She's anything but a victim!"

"Who is she?  How do you know her?" Grissom prodded, thinking that anger might loosen Nick's tongue.

"She used to be a neighbor of mine.  She was in high school when I was in grade school."

"So you knew her back in Dallas?"

"Yes," Nick answered, almost surprised that Grissom knew where he had grown up.  He didn't remember ever specifically discussing it with him before.

"What did she do?"

"She ... she ..." he began, then took a deep breath.  "She babysat me one night, when I was just a kid.  I was nine.  She was sixteen or seventeen, I guess.  My parents were going out, and couldn't get my regular babysitter.  My brothers and sisters were older, and they were all out, too, on dates or at a friend's house.  I was alone," he said heavily, a tinge of a feeling of abandonment coloring his voice.

"Did she hurt you?" Grissom asked, anxious to keep the momentum going.

"No.  Yeah.  Depends on what you mean by 'hurt'," Nick answered.

"Did she physically harm you or threaten you?" Grissom asked, starting at the most common abuse complaint against babysitters, especially inexperienced teens.

"No.  Well, she threatened me, but that was after."

"You know what I'm going to ask next, don't you?" Grissom said, his voice turning surprisingly gentle.  He surprised them both by putting a comforting hand on Nick's shoulder.

"Yeah, I know," Nick answered in a broken voice, rubbing the cresting tears from his eyes.  His mind was in a panic, knowing that this was literally the moment of truth.  Grissom would be asking him a question that was core to his being, and he knew that he didn't want to lie, but he'd struggled his whole life to hide it.

"Did she, um, take advantage of you?" Grissom delicately phrased, feeling like words such as 'sexually abuse' or 'molest' sounded too harsh, too clinical, to use with someone he cared about.

Nick nodded silently, the tears streaming down his face, his nose running.  Sobs began to wrack his body.  He'd spoken of it once before with Catherine, and that was difficult enough.  But the circumstances were different then:  he hadn't just been confronted with his tormentor, they were in the lab where he felt comfortable and more in control, and she was a woman and a peer of sorts.  

Telling Grissom was infinitely more difficult on more than one level.  Not only was he a man, but he had made it consistently clear that he was uncomfortable with emotionalism and wasn't interested in his employees' personal lives.  

He was the supervisor, and would be making the recommendation for the promotion, and Nick knew that unburdening himself with his emotionally distant boss would make him appear weak – not a trait that stood him in good stead to win the Lead CSI position.

But in Nick's heart, it felt like he was telling his father, symbolically at least.  In the more than two decades since it had happened, he'd never even hinted at it to his father – nor to any of his family, for that matter.

Grissom ran his hand across Nick's shoulders, patting him as he cried, wishing he had the words to say that would take away the pain the young man was feeling.  He was almost sorry that he'd forced Nick into this confession, considering his inability to help him feel any better.

Grissom closed his eyes against the shared pain, a visual flashing in his mind of a scared little black-haired boy, doing what he was told to, hoping the nightmare would end soon, praying for his parents to return.

Though none of his family could have known what was going to happen to him, he probably subconsciously felt abandoned, left alone to suffer at the hands of someone he'd trusted.  He couldn't trust her to take care of him;  he couldn't trust his family to protect him.

As often happens with children, he took the onus onto himself.  If he was betrayed, then he'd done something to deserve it.  If he was abandoned, it was because he was unworthy.

Many things about Nick began to fall into place for Grissom.  He could now understand Nick's drive to prove that he was as good as anyone else.  Grissom had assumed that it was the competitiveness typical of young males, but now he realized that it was the product of a shattered self-esteem.

He also knew that Nick would do whatever was asked of him, no matter how he felt about it.  The young CSI apparently thought that it was necessary in order to stay out of trouble.  He never realized that one of the things Grissom was waiting on was for Nick to begin to think independently.  The few times he had, he seemed apologetic about it.  Grissom now understood why.

Nick also had a reputation as a ladies' man, for which Grissom had teased him on more than one occasion.  As happens with some people who are sexually abused as children, he evidently compensated by being very sexually active, as though he could reduce the importance of the abuse by making it just one experience of many.

Grissom didn't doubt that Nick may have even bragged at some point in his teen years that he had his first experience at nine – probably to the awe of the other boys, most of whom had probably not even masturbated by that age.

The weight of loss began to press in on Nick – not only the remembrance of the loss of his virginity, but the assumption that he'd lost out on any chance at the promotion.  He was sure that Grissom would lose respect for him – not necessarily because of what happened to him, but how he'd reacted to it.

He began to feel that the last 25 years had been a sham, that he'd never overcome the script of his life that was written one night, when he was just nine.  A sense of futility, of hopelessness, began to infuse him.

Grissom could feel him emotionally collapsing, and he pulled him in tight to his side, if for no other reason than to keep him from physically collapsing.

"I'm so sorry, Nick," Grissom said unevenly, not sure what else he could possibly say.  He was stunned when the young man turned and leaned in on him, obviously desperate for a safe human connection.

Grissom hesitated, feeling much like he had when Catherine had hugged him in the hospital while he was waiting for his surgery:  emotionally overwhelmed and unsure how to respond.  

Just as he did that day, Grissom soon joined in the hug, even if uncomfortably.  He patted and rubbed Nick on the back, as the young man cried on his shoulder.  

Grissom would have been equally uncomfortable no matter who had done that, but it was even more disconcerting that it was Nick.  Grissom had always thought of him and Warrick as being almost stereotypical males, unwilling or unable to display any emotions other than perhaps anger – a characteristic that Grissom shared, as did many men, especially in their line of work.

It had always bothered him when Catherine or Sara cried, not because he thought it showed them to be weak, but because his inability to take away the pain that caused the tears made him feel weak, ineffectual.  

He recognized that it was part of his genetic program to feel like he needed to protect the female of the species, though he knew that it wasn't necessary, at least with woman such as those two.  

He felt the same way about children, though he was rarely presented with a hurt child.  He suddenly realized that he'd always sent Sara or Catherine on those cases, telling himself that as women they'd be more empathetic, more nurturing.  The truth is that he knew that it would make him angry, perhaps uncontrollably so, making him lose his objectivity.

However, it was terra incognita for him to have the same situation presented to him by a grown man.  However, Grissom recognized that as Nick's boss and mentor, he was a sort of father figure, and it seemed only natural to want to protect him.

Grissom had silently resisted Catherine's assertion long ago that they were building a family around him, but he did have to admit that in ways he saw them as offspring of sorts.  They were young and inexperienced when they came to him, and he'd spent years imparting his knowledge to them.

He'd always tried to keep the relationships strictly professional, pushing all feelings aside, but he knew he'd been unsuccessful.  When Warrick had been suffering with his gambling habit, it was as though he'd inherited a defective gene from Grissom.  He'd gambled extensively in his youth, but had overcome it.  He didn't like seeing the young man following in his footsteps, and desperately wanted Warrick to be able to get past it, just as Grissom had.

Greg and Nicky had always seemed like his youngest children to him – both eager to please, even if one was a bit rebellious and wayward.  When he'd walked beside Greg's gurney as they took him from the lab after his lab had exploded, he was almost overcome with a fear that had seemed foreign to him.  

A strange thought had crossed his mind then:  if Greg didn't make it, would he know that Grissom cared about him?  Or would he think that he was unliked, unaccepted?  Over the following days, as Greg recuperated, Grissom had determined to let Greg know that how he'd acted and how he'd felt weren't the same.  

He tried to tell him directly, but it was difficult to put into words, as he talked to the boy when he returned to his duties.  Greg's shaking hands had touched Grissom's heart, connecting with the fear he'd felt when he saw the young man lying unconscious in a rubble of glass.  All he could do is offer to be there if Greg needed him.

He decided to help Greg in a way he felt comfortable with, allowing him to begin training as a CSI.  Grissom had resisted it for years, excusing himself with reasons that were true but not the truth.  He needed him in DNA.  The boy got on his nerves.  He wasn't serious enough to be a CSI.  None of those was the real reason.

Greg had a simple, infectious joy that Grissom was afraid would be killed by the things he'd be exposed to.  He didn't want Greg to change, to lose that part of himself that loved life.  But he recognized that becoming a CSI was a dream for Greg, and he couldn't rob him of his dream either.  He just hoped that the boy was strong enough to stay true to his nature.

To Grissom, Nick had always been the Good Son, steadfast and dependable.  Though he wasn't as intellectual as Grissom, he had always felt an almost fatherly pride whenever Nick would advance, knowing that it was due to hard work and determination.

He realized that he was becoming increasingly angry as he held the shattered young man, which he also knew to be a strictly instinctive response.  His mind was telling his body to prepare to fight to protect his ersatz progeny.  He forced himself to breathe more slowly, more deeply to calm himself.  Rationally, he knew it wouldn't help Nick for him to lose his temper now.

Sniffing and wiping at his eyes, Nick turned away embarrassed, pulling himself from Grissom's weak hold on him.  

"God, I can't believe I'm acting like such a baby," he said with a fake laugh.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to, you know, cry all over you.  Aw, man, I got your shirt wet," he said, unsuccessfully trying to wipe the moisture off of Grissom's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," Grissom said, cocking his head to watch his young protégé try to pull himself together.

"Easy for you to say.  Somehow I can't see you hanging all over the Sheriff, crying on his shoulder.  It's just not a good career move," Nick teased, though he was still having to wipe the occasional errant tear from his face.

"Have you ever talked to anyone else about this?" Grissom asked.

"I told Catherine about it a couple of years ago, during a case.  I didn't go into any detail.  I don't understand why it affected me so much more this time."

"Because you'd seen your abuser, that's why.  It made it more real, more immediate.  I can certainly understand why you'd be upset," Grissom assured him.  "You never told your parents?"

"No.  I didn't want to upset them, and I was afraid I'd get in trouble.  She said that she'd tell them that I raped her if I said anything.  I wasn't even sure what rape was, but I knew that whatever it was, I would be in big trouble for it, just by the way she said it."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Nicky," Grissom said, putting a hand across the top of his shoulder again.

"I know.  I know.  But it feels like I did.  I just can't seem to shake the feeling of guilt, of shame.  I mean, she couldn't have done anything if I didn't get, well, you know."

"Aroused?  Nick, that's physiological.  It takes years, decades even, to gain any real control over that, and even then, sometimes our bodies react whether we want them to or not.  It doesn't mean you were a willing participant."

"I wasn't.  It wasn't my fault," he said in a child-like voice, his body starting to heave again in silent sobs.

"No, it wasn't.  You aren't to blame for any of it.  Sure, it might have been best to tell your parents at some point, but I can understand why you didn't.  Most child molesters use threats like that to subdue their victims and gain their cooperation.  It's even more insidious than a physical threat because it's not detectable, and it's more damaging in the long-term."

"I bet you're really sorry you asked, aren't you?" Nick said, a sad smile pulling at his lips.

"No.  I'm sorry you went through this.  And I'm sorry you didn't feel you could talk about it to someone when you were younger.  It might have been easier for you now.  But I'm not sorry that you told me.  It helps me understand you."

The two stood in silence, looking out over the jet-black lake, both processing all that had been said.  Nick's face took on a contemplative look, as though he had drawn a connection or a parallel that interested him.

"Don't you think maybe that works both ways?" Nick asked, turning his head to catch Grissom's reaction.

"What do you mean?" Grissom asked.

"Don't you think that maybe we'd understand you better if we knew more about you?  Somehow I doubt that you have anything that's anywhere near this embarrassing in your past, but you still keep everything about yourself a secret."

Grissom shifted uncomfortably, speared by the logic of Nick's statement.  "You might be right, Nick, but that begs the assumption that I want to be understood.  Maybe that's not very important to me."

"That's convenient," Nick chuckled mirthlessly.

"It happens to be true, though," Grissom said, shrugging.

"What if it's important to us, Griss?  You're our leader and our friend, but you make it harder on us by staying so aloof.  Sometimes it feels like you think you're superior to us," Nick admitted sheepishly.

"That's not my intention, Nick," Grissom said, his brow furrowed in thought.  Though he would readily admit that he was an elitist, he had never felt himself to be above any of his co-workers, other than in departmental rank.  Even in that, he didn't separate himself the way the other supervisors did – he worked in the field like any rank-and-file CSI.

His separation from them wasn't based on his rank, his experience, or even his intelligence, but rather on his inherent shyness.  He had always strived to be a ghost, whether at home, at school or at work, preferring to blend in whenever possible, and escape whenever it wasn't.  

"I hear you, Griss, but that's the way it comes across.  Either you think you're better than us, or maybe you don't trust us enough to let us know you, or maybe you just don't like us enough to want us to know you.  No matter how you cut it, it seems to say a lot about what you think of us."

"Maybe it should say more about what I think of me," Grissom offered.  

"Catherine's known you the longest, and probably knows you the best, but I bet she doesn't even know if you have any brothers or sisters."

"You're probably right."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?" Grissom asked.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Nick asked, half-exasperated.

"No."

"It seems strange to work with someone for years and not know anything at all about his family."

"I think that most people talk too much about their personal lives," Grissom countered.

"But it helps us get to know and understand each other," Nick argued.

"Again, that assumes that I want people to know and understand me."

"Why wouldn't you?  Don't you want people to feel comfortable with you?"

"It's not a requirement.  If they're comfortable, fine.  If not, fine.  It's their problem, not mine," Grissom offered evenly.

"Come on, Grissom!  Everyone wants to be liked, to be accepted.  Everyone wants to feel like they have a connection to people."

"Nick, I understand if that's important to you.  But it's a fallacy to assume that it's important to everybody."

"Are you saying that you don't care whether you're isolated or connected?  Aren't you lonely?"

"Alone isn't synonymous with lonely," Grissom said philosophically.

"What about love?" Nick pressed.

"What about it?"

"Don't you want someone to love you?"

"What makes you so sure no one does?" Grissom asked, a bit defensively.

"I'm not saying that no one does.  But that kind of makes my point.  I've been working with you for five years and I don't even know if you love anyone or if anyone loves you."

"If it makes you feel any better, Nick, there are those I love and those who love me," Grissom said enigmatically.

"Who do I love, Grissom?" Nick challenged, setting his hands firmly on his hips.

"Your family," Grissom answered.

"How do you know that?"

"By the way you talk about them."

"Who does Catherine love?"

"Her mother, her sister, and Lindsey."

"How do you know?" Nick asked.

"How could anyone not know?" Grissom laughed.

"Who does Warrick love?"

"His grandmother," Grissom answered.

"How do you know?"

"By how he talks about her."

"Who does Sara love?"

"I don't know.  I suppose her family," Grissom shrugged, frowning.

"You know that?  Or do you just assume it?"

"I assume it."

"See?  That's my point.  You know who Cath, Warrick, and I love.  We can't help but talk about them, because they're important to us.  But, as far as anyone can tell, you fell out of the sky to Earth or were cloned or something.  Sara, too, for that matter.  Don't you like your family?"

"I love my family," Grissom answered defensively.

"But you never even mention them," Nick countered.

"I'm a very private person, Nick.  I don't talk about my personal life, because it _is_ personal.  I'm uncomfortable with the idea of the public display of things that I consider private."

"I can understand that when it comes to romance or something like that, but even your family?"

"I like to keep my family and my work life separate, if for no other reason than to protect them."

"Well, I wouldn't talk about my family to someone who could hurt them.  I'm not talking about announcing it to the media.  I'm just saying that it's unusual to not even mention them to your friends.  We are your friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, but I don't see how talking about my family makes you any more or any less my friends."

"Because they're part of what makes you you.  Just like our pasts.  If anything different had happened to me, I'd be a different person."

"We are essentially formed by our experiences," Grissom agreed, nodding.

"Right.  So, let's say there's something I don't understand about you.  Now, if I knew more about you, I might not have that misunderstanding."

"True, but as I said, you assume that I want you to understand me," Grissom said, coming back full circle.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because you understanding me – or not, as the case may be – is irrelevant to who I am.  I am who I am, whether you understand me or not, whether you like me or not, whether you accept me or not.  The idea is to be at peace with yourself, not fret over whether someone else likes you."

"Are you at peace with yourself?"

"As much as I can be," Grissom allowed.

"How can we trust you if you don't trust us?" Nick asked, changing tactics.

"You assume that I don't share my personal life because I don't trust you.  That's not true.  I do trust you."

"Then tell me something personal about yourself, something I don't know."  

"Is there something specific that you want to know?  Something you think would help you to understand me better?" Grissom asked almost fearfully, but assuring himself that he wouldn't answer if Nick's question was too revealing.

"What I'd like to know the most, I don't think you'd tell me.  You might not even know the answer."

"Which is?"

"Why you're like that.  So private, I mean.  Have you always been like that, or did something happen to turn you against people?"

"Both, I guess" Grissom answered succinctly, unwilling or unable to go further.

"Is that all the answer I get?" Nick asked, smiling wistfully.

"Maybe it's all the answer I've got," Grissom shrugged.

"You're from SoCal, right?"

"Yes."

"Were you ever a beach bum?" Nick asked playfully.

"In a manner of speaking.  When I was a kid I used to hang out on the beach a lot."

"Scoping out girls?" Nick teased.

"Hardly," Grissom huffed.

"Did you just like the ocean?  Or was there something at home you wanted to get away from?" Nick asked thoughtfully, wondering if Grissom would answer such a personal question.

Grissom didn't answer immediately, and Nick wasn't sure if it was because he wasn't going to answer or if he was thinking of how to phrase the answer.

"It was something to do.  I was usually home alone, since my mother ran an art gallery.  She worked long hours."

"Where was your dad?"

"Gone," Grissom said heavily.  "Since I was five."

"Oh.  Wow.  That's rough.  So you pretty much took care of yourself, huh?"

"Yes, I suppose so.  My mother had friends and relatives who checked in on me from time to time.  I also hung out at the gallery sometimes.  My mother wasn't neglectful;  she was doing what she had to in order to support us," Grissom said in her defense.

"It's hard enough nowadays to be a single parent, and there are resources to help when things get to be too much.  I can't even imagine what it must have been like for your mom back then.  She must have been an extraordinary woman."

"She is," Grissom nodded.

"So she's still alive?"

"Yes."

"You talk to her much?"

"I write her letters and emails."

"You miss talking to her?  I try to call my family when I get a chance, but I don't talk to them as much as I ought to.  Sometimes you take them for granted, like they'll always be there."

"I haven't verbally spoken to my mother in four decades," Grissom said sadly.

"Huh?" Nick asked, stunned.

"She went deaf when I was eight."

"Oh.  Yeah, well, I guess that explains why you're not very talkative," Nick said, as some of the puzzle pieces fell into place.  

"Sign language depends more on body language and expression than spoken language does.  I grew up communicating that way, and I sometimes forget that other people can't read that," Grissom admitted.

"Uh, this might sound kind of like a put-down, but I don't mean it that way," Nick prefaced.  "But, since you're used to reading people's expressions and body language, how is it that you don't seem to understand people sometimes?  You seem to do really well when it comes to interrogations and stuff like that, but when it comes to the people who are closest to you, it seems like you don't always get it."

Grissom huffed a mirthless laugh.  "Nick, people who communicate with sign language use their expressions very purposefully.  They're conscious, planned, and support or enhance what they are saying with their hands.  Hearing people sometimes send mixed messages.  They're saying one thing, but their body language says another.  When it's someone I don't know, I usually go with my instincts, and believe what their bodies are unconsciously telling me.  But when it comes to people I care about, I'm more hesitant to make those assumptions." 

"I wonder if someone in Sara's family is deaf," Nick mused, narrowing his eyes in thought.

"What makes you think that?" Grissom asked, his curiosity piqued.

"It's just that she's so expressive, nonverbally, I mean.  She uses her body to talk more than anyone I've ever met.  It's like I can walk into the room she's in, and within seconds I know what she's feeling."

"Really?" Grissom intoned, about halfway between a statement and a question.

"Yeah.  Don't tell me you haven't noticed it.  It's not just her face, but her whole body – the way she walks or stands.  What she does with her hands.  But, of course, her face tells the most."

"I guess I haven't really thought about it," Grissom lied.

"How could you miss it?  She doesn't have to talk, half the time.  But when she does, it's more to back up what her body is saying, instead of the other way around.  Don't you think so?"

Grissom narrowed his eyes in thought, easily conjuring up a stream of memories of Sara.  He knew that Nick was right, that she spoke with her whole body, but she didn't need to.  Her face usually told him everything he needed to know.  If every inch of her was covered except her eyes, he'd still be able to see more truth in them than he could comfortably handle.

"I'll have to start paying more attention," Grissom answered obliquely.

"You should.  You might be surprised at what you see," Nick said cryptically.

Grissom didn't feel the need to assure Nick that he would more likely not be surprised at anything he'd see.  After all, he'd seen every emotion possible in her eyes, and he had images of each carefully stored and catalogued in his mind.  

What Grissom wished was that Sara was as adept at reading his own body language as she was at expressing herself that way.  She paid too much attention to what he said verbally, and not enough to what he said nonverbally.  He wanted her to know the things he couldn't say aloud.

"Was your dad a scientist?" Nick asked, sensing that he'd get no further in a discussion of Sara, and wanting to learn more about Grissom, especially since he was being unusually forthcoming.

"No, he wasn't," Grissom answered, his voice dripping with bitterness.  "He was in the import/export business."

"Oh, that's kind of interesting.  What did he trade in?"

"I don't know, though I could make some assumptions.  He traded with Communist China."

"I didn't know they traded in anything back then but weapons and heroin," Nick said.

"They didn't, to the best of my knowledge," Grissom answered.

"Um, you mean you think you're dad was a gun smuggler or a dope smuggler?" Nick asked, incredulous.  Being in law enforcement was a family trait, as far as he was concerned.  It never occurred to him that anyone from criminal stock would choose it.

"Evidently," Grissom shrugged.

"Is that why you're in law enforcement?  One of those rebellion-against-your-dad things?"

"No.  I don't think of myself as being in law enforcement.  I think of myself as being a forensic scientist.  It's one of the best fields for a general scientist, so it holds my interest."

"Have you ever thought about why you became a scientist, Grissom?" Nick asked.

"Not really.  It's always been an interest of mine."

"Yeah, but why?  It's not like you were exposed to it as a child.  What made you interested?"

"I don't know, Nick," Grissom shrugged.

"What do you like about it?"

"I like understanding how things work.  I like the straightforward simplicity of science.  Nothing is true until it's proven, more than once.  Things work within parameters, according to physical laws.  Much of it can be described or quantified mathematically.  I like its order and relative predictability."

"Unlike people," Nick mused.

"I suppose," Grissom agreed.

"Maybe it's the kid in you, trying to understand what you could of the world, since you probably couldn't understand all the things that happened in your life that had to do with people."

"Maybe," Grissom answered with a sigh.  He was long past analyzing why he was as he was, long past caring.  Understanding it didn't change it, and even if it could, he was too old to change now.

"Well, if it makes you happy, that's all that matters, right?  So many people are stuck in dead-end jobs that they are miserable in.  You love your job."

"Yes, I do.  It's something I enjoy, that I'm good at.  And it has the added bonus of helping other people."

"Do you feel like you have to make it up to society, for what your dad did?"

"I'm not sure it's for society as much as it's for my family.  They aren't that sort of people, and I don't want other people to think they are.  If my father was a criminal, and I'm a criminalist, it evens out."

"So I went into it to get respect _from_ my family, and you did it to get respect _for_ your family."

"It wasn't a conscious decision, but I guess it worked out that way."

Even as a child, Grissom had never spent much time talking to children, but he imagined it was much like this conversation.  It seemed like every answer he gave, hoping it would end the conversation, was followed by a "Why?"  

He found the exchange to be exhausting as he balanced Nick's need to understand with his own need to not be too revealing.  

And just like a child, Nick surprised Grissom by suddenly changing the subject.  

"Is Warrick really your favorite CSI?"

"No, Nick.  Sara started that rumor a long time ago, when I supported him over the Holly Gribbs tragedy."

"You've covered for all of us, other than Sara."

"She hasn't needed it, so far.  But if she ever did, I'd cover for her, too."

"Really?  I bet she wouldn't believe that," Nick said honestly.

"Perhaps not, but it doesn't change the fact that it's true."

"I used to think that Sara would be your favorite.  She lives for forensics, like you do.  She seemed the most like you.  But I guess I was wrong."

"I don't have a favorite, Nick.  You're all individuals, and I appreciate different things about each of you."

"Really?  What do you appreciate about Catherine?"

"She's known me a long time, and she's very accepting of me."

"What about Warrick?"

"He's very passionate about things, but he's got a serious, quiet, calm exterior – at least most of the time."

"What about Sara?"

"She's fiercely independent, and she always stands up for her principles."

"Yeah, you could say that," Nick laughed.  "What about me?  Is there anything you appreciate about me?"

"Of course, Nick.  You're eager.  You're dedicated.  You always give everything you do your very best effort."

"Thanks, Grissom.  What about Greg?" Nick asked slyly, figuring Grissom would be hard-pressed to compliment the spike-haired lab rat.

"He always looks for the joy in everything he does, no matter how mundane."

"Damn, Grissom, I never knew you gave us a second thought.  It's kind of weird hearing you say complimentary things.  No offense, but you don't usually say nice things about us."

"Compliments make me uncomfortable – both giving and receiving them," Grissom admitted.  "But that doesn't mean that I don't ever think about what I value in other people."

"When did you first meet Sara?" Nick asked abruptly.

Grissom shook his head slightly, thoroughly surprised by the sudden shift in the conversation.  

"How does that help you understand _me_?" Grissom asked, a bemused smile on his face.

"It just does.  Are you going to answer the question?" Nick asked as politely as he could.

"Okay.  Uh, let's see, I met Sara eight years ago."

"Where?" Nick asked, realizing that Grissom wasn't going to volunteer any details, no matter how mundane the topic, and Nick suspected that this topic was anything but mundane.

"San Francisco," Grissom answered succinctly.

"Under what circumstances?" Nick asked, chuckling at Grissom's reticence.

"I don't see what this has to do with understanding me," Grissom said suspiciously.

"We're a collection of our experiences, right?  Isn't that what you said?  Well, this is an experience that happened before we met.  I'm interested because it involves two people that I know and work with.  It's not a secret, it is?" 

"No, it's not a secret.  She had just been recruited into the crime lab there, as a CSI trainee.  Before I had the additional responsibilities of supervising, I used to teach seminars at other labs.  Sometimes they were basic seminars, like fingerprinting or blood spatter.  Sometimes they were more advanced, like entomology or estimating time of death."

"So she took a seminar from you?"

"A few, as a matter of fact," Grissom nodded.

"Did you keep in touch after that?"

"Yes.  I frequently make new contacts when I travel, and I try to keep in touch.  You never know when someone's expertise will come in handy."

"And what, exactly, was her expertise?" Nick asked, unable to keep the grin off of his face.

"Materials analysis," Grissom answered seriously, not taking the bait that Nick had dangled in front of him.

"I doubt she knew more about it than you did," Nick said evenly.

"She had recently studied it in grad school.  New ideas, fresh blood."

"Oh.  So you brought her here because she was recently trained in materials analysis?"

"No.  I brought her here because we were short one CSI and Warrick was in trouble."

"Why her?"

"Because I knew her, I trusted her, and she would come right away."

"How did you know that?"

"I asked."

"Didn't that ever seem strange to you?" Nick asked, leaning forward on the hood of the SUV, next to the front wheel, facing Grissom, who was in a similar position on the other side of the Denali by now.

"Strange in what way?" Grissom asked.

"Strange that she would drop everything to come here.  When her investigation was over and you offered her a job, she just quit the job she had, put her stuff in storage, and moved right out here."

"We have a better lab," Grissom answered calmly.

"Is that why she did it?"

"I wouldn't presume to speak for Sara.  But that's always been my assumption," Grissom told him.

"Hmm," Nick intoned, evidently processing all that he'd been told, though very little of it was really news to him.  "So, when did you know that you liked her?"

"I've always liked her.  She's a likable enough person," Grissom evaded.

"I guess this is where we get into the secret part, huh?" Nicky said, his eyebrows raised challengingly.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to, Nick," Grissom said, lifting himself from the hood of the vehicle, standing upright.

"You know what I meant, but you're pretending not to.  That tells me that you really think that this is a secret that no one but you knows."

"Perhaps you should spell it out for me," Grissom said dryly, a single eyebrow raised.

"Everyone knows that you like Sara.  And you know what I mean by 'like', so you don't have to play coy.  Everyone knows that Sara likes you.  Y'all both think it's this big secret, but it's not."

Grissom didn't respond, but rather blinked at Nick owlishly a few times, his mind coming to grips with all of the insights he'd gained that morning, not the least of which was that everyone apparently had always known of his and Sara's mutual attraction.

"Now, here's the secret that we are all dying to know, the secret that will help us understand not only you, but Sara as well, especially considering that she's so much like you."

Grissom held his breath unconsciously, feeling as tense as if he were waiting for a bomb to explode in his hands, the seconds ticking down on the detonator.

"Since you like her, and she likes you, why don't y'all get together?" Nick asked, shrugging in complete befuddlement.

It was the question Grissom had been expecting, but he still couldn't help but be amused at how Nick had distilled it into such a simple, almost child-like, question, and he found himself huffing a laugh and smiling at the young CSI.

"If only it were as simple as your question makes it sound," Grissom answered.

"So it's not like you two hooked up before, had some sort of meltdown, and now you're too gun-shy to try again?"

"No, nothing like that.  We never 'hooked up', as you put it."

"Are you not gonna tell me?  Or is it that you don't know the answer?" Nick asked pointedly.

"There are a lot of answers.  And the answers change from time to time.  I think it's just not meant to be, Nick.  Just because people 'like' each other, as you put it, that doesn't mean that they'll get together and live happily ever after."

"Don't you think you ought to try, though, before you decide that it's not meant to be?" Nick asked.

"Let me ask you this:  If the engine of the Denali were running, would it be possible for you to stick your finger in the path of the radiator fan and pull it out, unharmed?"

"Sure, it's possible, I guess, but not likely.  The odds are that I'd pull back a bloody stump," Nick laughed.

"Would you feel like you had to try first, before you decided that it wasn't safe?"

"No."

"Often we base our decisions on knowledge of the odds of the possible consequences rather than having to experiment."

"You know, I'm gonna tell Sara that you compared her to a radiator fan," Nick laughed.

"I doubt she'd be upset by that.  The fan is sharp, fast, efficient, and vitally necessary to the overall operation of the engine.  She knows cars, so I believe that she'd appreciate the analogy."

"You forgot to mention that it's dangerous," Nicked added, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Yes, that too.  The engine can't function long without it, but it is dangerous unless it's handled very carefully."

"You don't know the answer," Nick laughed, walking to the cab of the Denali.  "You can talk all you want to about reasons, but the truth is that you just don't know what to do.  She's a live wire, and you're not sure how to grab hold without getting zapped."

Grissom recalled telling Sara essentially the same thing when she asked him out for dinner.  He admitted to her then that he didn't know what to do.  He hasn't known in the past eight years, and he hasn't made any more progress since that morning in his office.

Once both men were settled in the SUV, and Grissom had turned towards the direction of Las Vegas and the Crime Lab, Nick spoke again, filling the silent cab.

"Can I ask you another question, Griss?"

"You've already well exceeded your quota," Grissom teased, hoping to deter Nick without having to be even less subtle.

"No, this is really about me, in a way.  I was just wondering.  If you take both of our secrets into account, do I really have any chance at the promotion?"

Grissom turned to Nick, stunned by the question, braking to a halt on the small road from the picnic area up to the highway.

"What did you say?" Grissom asked, hoping he'd misheard.

"Come on, Griss.  Let's be realistic.  I had a total meltdown this morning, and now you know all about something that's an issue for me.  And I'd certainly understand if you thought that I wasn't fit for a leadership role now."

"What's that got to do with what you think of as my secret?" Grissom asked.

"Well, you know.  Damn, Grissom, I shouldn't have to spell all of this out.  There were things that Sara had over me, and things that I had over her.  I don't know how she felt, but I figured that we were neck-and-neck.  But now that we've had this talk, I think it's pretty clear that I probably don't have much of a chance."

"Nick, are you implying that Sara would have any advantage over you because of an attraction that we never acted on?"

"Not by itself.  If anything, I always figured it would work against her.  But now that I've shot myself in the foot, I guess it might have the opposite effect."

Resuming their trek back to the lab, Grissom squinted in thought, recalling Sara's words as she stammered her hopes that anything that happened or didn't happen between them wouldn't have any effect on his decision.  At the time, her words stung him, hurting him that she would believe that he'd let his feelings interfere with a professional matter.

The one question he would have wanted to ask, had he not been thunderstruck, was whether she thought that the situation would be a benefit or a detriment to her.

But now Nick was implying the same thing, which concerned Grissom greatly.  He wondered if he had done anything to give them that idea, or whether they truly didn't know him any better than that.

But why should they?  Like Nick said, I don't reveal myself, my feelings or my beliefs to them, so why should I assume that they'd know them – that they'd know me?

"Nick, all I can tell you is that I intend to make my decision based solely on criteria that are directly related to the job."

Grissom had already been on the horns of a dilemma, choosing between the two.  Sara was much more qualified, if one only took forensics knowledge and skills into account.  She would have much more valuable knowledge to impart to those she'd be leading.

But Nick was more qualified in the human aspect of leadership.  He was friendly, though serious at crime scenes, which Grissom considered to be fitting.  He got along well with all of his co-workers.  Unfortunately, Sara couldn't always say the same thing.

Perhaps more importantly, the lead CSI would have to work closely with the supervisor, and Grissom wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to be put in that position with her, especially with their relationship as unsettled as it was.  

If they didn't work out the tension between them, he feared that she would become increasingly bitter and rebellious.  At best, it would make his life miserable;  at worst it could cause a schism in the department.

If they did work out their issues, and became involved, Nick and possibly others might assume that she'd been given the job for that reason, a thought that was abhorrent to Grissom.  

She may be undergoing some changes in her life and her attitudes, but Grissom knew that Sara would never tolerate such an accusation under any circumstances, no matter how much she changed.

He felt caught in a vicious cycle, and suddenly realized that they were both right – that no matter which way he decided, it would appear that his feelings for Sara were at the base of it, and they wouldn't necessarily be wrong.  

_If I choose Sara, I'd never be able to go out with her, or I'd be accused of favoritism of the worst sort.  I'd have to work with her closely every day, even more than I do now.  But I'd never be able to touch her, kiss her, make love to her.  Never._

_If I choose Nick, she'll know why and all hell could break loose.  He'll probably know why.  She'll be furious with me, and I wouldn't have a leg to stand on.  I'd have shown everyone else that I could be 'fair', even if I'm interested in her, but it wouldn't be fair to her.  She'd probably never speak to me again.  She'd never let me touch her, kiss her, make love to her.  Never._

No matter what I do, it's going to be wrong.  Damn, Sara!  Why did you have to apply for that promotion?  If you hadn't ...  if only you hadn't.  Now it's too late.  It's really too late.

His thoughts were interrupted just as they turned onto Tropicana Boulevard, only minutes from the Crime Lab.  

"Griss, I just want to say that I appreciate everything you did for me this morning.  I just hope that you didn't lose whatever respect you had for me," he said heavily.

"On the contrary, Nick, I have even greater respect for you.  I understand you better, and I'm impressed with how you've handled this thing that happened to you.  You're determined that it's not going to drag you down.  It's motivated you to prove yourself in ways that you probably wouldn't have imagined if it hadn't happened."

"It's one of the things that makes me who I am," Nick nodded.

"Exactly.  I assure you that your secret is safe with me, and that it won't have any negative impact on you."

"I appreciate that, Griss.  I really do.  But what are you gonna do about Sara?  This promotion thing has the potential to really be a problem, no matter what you do."

"See, Nick, your ability to instantly grasp the dynamics of this situation is one of the things that works in your favor," Grissom said, chuckling mirthlessly.  

"Maybe it's a test," Nick suggested.

"If so, it's cleverly designed such that I can't possibly pass," Grissom said as he eased the Denali into the parking lot of the lab.

"If you choose her, she'll know that you've given up on ever getting together, that you are putting more value on a job than on a relationship.  If you don't choose her, she'll know that you are willing to crater her career for your own personal reasons.  Man, it sucks to be you right now," Nick said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, it sucks to be me," Grissom agreed, exhaling deeply as he slid from the cab of the SUV.

"You could always turn it around on her," Nick suggested, stopping Grissom before they entered the building.  "Talk to her, tell her everything.  Lay it all out for her.  Ask her which is more important to _her_."

"How will that help?  The choices are the same."

"Nah, man.  If you make the choice, you have a zero percent chance of it working out, right?  If she makes the choice, you have a fifty-fifty chance.  They're still crappy odds, but they're a hell of a lot better than the odds you're playing now."

"What about you, Nick?  How are you going to react if I choose Sara, especially now that we've had this discussion?  Are you going to assume that it's personal?  Am I still going to lose the respect of someone whose respect I value?"

"That depends, Grissom.  If you talk to her, and she chooses the job over you, then I wouldn't be surprised if you gave it to her.  It's not like you'd be getting anything out of it."

"The only problem with your plan, Nick, is that it puts this decision in Sara's hands, and it's not her decision to make.  She's not making the recommendation for Lead CSI, I am.  That's the way it's got to be."

"Either way, Grissom, I think you ought to talk to her, just like you've talked to me.  If anything, I understand your dilemma a lot more now.  I know that you're struggling to be fair, but it's almost impossible.  I know now that whatever decision you make, you'll have thought it all the way through, and truly believe you're doing the right thing.  I'll accept whatever decision you make," Nick said firmly.

"Thanks, Nick.  I appreciate that."

"But I'm not kidding, man.  Talk to her.  If for no other reason than because it shows that you respect her.  I think that you're gonna find that the key to making and keeping Sara Sidle happy is R-E-S-P-E-C-T," Nick spelled out.

"Why, thank you, Aretha," Grissom teased as they entered the lab.

"Hey, don't be dissing Aretha Franklin!" Nick joked.  "She told us guys decades ago what it took to make a woman happy.  It's not her fault that we didn't pay attention."

As the two men walked casually into the break room, Catherine stood and walked quickly to meet Nick partway.  He looked down sheepishly, but smiling, like a little boy who knows that his mother is probably going to kiss him in public.

"Nicky, are you okay?" she said excitedly, yet quietly.  When he shook his head 'yes', still looking down, she pulled him into a hug, looking over his shoulder at Grissom.  Her eyes asked him if he knew, and he nodded in the affirmative, not knowing whether to leave or stay.  

It was an intensely personal moment, and he felt uncomfortable, but he had  to admit that he felt less like an outsider than he normally did when he witnessed human interactions at the lab.  He had often been amazed and confused by how openly the others communicated, and how easily they touched each other:  no guilt, no recriminations.

Catherine finally released Nick, and the two sat at the table quietly – the words weren't being hidden; they weren't necessary.  Grissom moved up beside Nick, setting a hand on his shoulder – a little hesitantly at first, but more confidently when he realized that the world didn't collapse when he showed his emotions at the lab.

"Nick, I'll be in my office if you need me for anything, okay?  Shift's almost over, so why don't you and Catherine just hang out here?  It's too late to start on anything else."

"Sure, Griss.  That's cool, thanks," Nick said, his voice a little weaker, a little more emotional than it had been in the hall.

When they were alone, Catherine asked him what had happened, and Nick recounted his experience with a little more detachment, anxious to not let himself become upset again, especially in the lab.  He was relieved to find that it didn't seem quite as devastating to retell, now that he'd finally released the emotion he'd been holding back for so long.

"Of all people to be paired with when this happened," Catherine clucked, shaking her head sympathetically.

"No, he was cool," Nick said, defending Grissom.  "Really.  I know you'd never believe it –I certainly didn't expect it – but he was very supportive."

"I don't know, Nick.  I'm having a hard time visualizing Grissom dealing with all that angst in any sort of constructive way," Catherine said conspiratorially, leaning in towards the young man.

"He was a little uncomfortable at first, I guess, but so was I.  But he hung in there, even when I, uh, I, um, sort of broke down."

"You cried in front of Grissom and he dealt with that?" Catherine asked incredulously.

"Worse.  I cried _on_ Grissom, and he dealt with it," Nick shared painfully.

"Okay, now I know that you obvious had some sort of psychotic break and imagined all of that.  Gil can't even stand it when a woman cries.  He either gets completely flustered or shuts down.  I can't possibly imagine how he'd handle a man crying."

"He did.  He helped me talk about it."

"Where were you?"

"Lake Las Vegas.  It was quiet and secluded.  Good place for a talk."

"You guys were talking about that all this time?  You've been gone for hours."

"We talked about a lot of things.  He even talked a little about himself," Nick shared.

"What?  Did you slip him some X or something?  Sodium pentathol?  He'd have to be drugged to willing talk about himself."

"I didn't say it was willingly," Nick laughed.  "I sort of pried it out of him, against his will.  I just hope he doesn't hold it against me when he's deciding on who to recommend for the Lead CSI position."

"Huh!  If anything, it should be a major selling point!  If you got one iota of personal information out of him without the use of drugs or a weapon, then that's quite an accomplishment."

"Catherine, have you given any thought to how messed up it going to be with him and Sara, no matter who he recommends?"

"That's not your problem, Nicky," Catherine said forcefully, shaking her head.  "You can't let that worry you one bit.  She made the decision to apply for the position.  She's a big girl.  If she didn't understand the consequences, well, that's her problem, not yours.  For all we know, she may not care what the consequences are."

"You really don't like her at all, do you, Cath?" Nick asked quietly and seriously, leaning forward.

"I don't really dislike her, Nick.  But we're not close friends, and we probably won't ever be.  There's a difference between disliking someone and not liking them."

"I think you see her differently from how Warrick and I see her," Nick hazarded.

"That's probably true.  But don't feel sorry for Sara, 'cause she doesn't like me any more than I like her.  Don't get me wrong, we don't hate each other.  We just don't mesh together very well."

"That's what funny to me.  You're good friends with Grissom, and Sara's a lot like him."

"In some ways.  But in other ways she's very different.  She's emotional and tempermental."

"So are you," Nick said teasingly, playfully jabbing at her shoulder.

"She's also very competitive.  I've never felt like I was competing with Grissom."

"Because he's always been the boss.  You don't like the idea of Sara passing you up."

"No, I don't.  But I don't blame Sara for that.  It's nobody's fault but mine.  I don't like the idea of you passing me up, either."

"Hey, Sara and I both know that this job should have been yours."

"Let that be a lesson to you, Nicky.  You can't ever let your guard down.  I've been working hard at this for almost a decade.  But I let myself get tired and distracted, and I made some bone-headed mistakes.  That's what they'd remember – not how many cases I've solved or how many years I've devoted to this."

"Doesn't seem fair," Nick said, shaking his head.

"Let me give you a little clue:  life isn't fair.  The sooner you realize that, the happier you'll be."

The two nodded in silence, each thinking of the things that had happened that changed the courses of their lives – sometimes just a bit, sometimes drastically.  

"Hey, what do you say we cut out of here a little early?" Catherine suggested.

"I can tell I'm going to have to keep an eye on you when I'm the Lead CSI," Nick said solemnly.

"You do that, hot shot," Catherine laughed.

* * * * *

"Bye, Grissom," Sara said tiredly from the doorway, barely slowing down on her way past.

"Sara?" he called out, rounding the desk to catch her before she left.

"Yeah?" she said, stopping.

"Can I talk to you a minute?  I know that shift's over, but there's something I want to discuss, if you have the time."

"Can this wait until tonight?  I'm tired."

"I guess it could," Grissom shrugged.  "It's about the Lead CSI position you applied for."

"Oh.  Well, okay," she said, following him into his office.  She was surprised and a little concerned when he closed the door behind her.

"That's not a good sign," she mumbled.

"It's not a bad sign, either," Grissom countered.

"Okay, what do you want to discuss?"

Grissom sat for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, contemplating.  He knew that the discussion would take its own course once it was underway, but he wasn't sure how to begin, and he knew that the beginning was key to which direction it ultimately took.

"Oh, this is definitely not a good sign," Sara said, shaking her head.

"I'm not sure how to begin," Grissom said.

"Story of my life," Sara huffed.

Grissom raised an eyebrow at her remark, wondering if Sara knew she had hit the nail on the head, without even trying.

"Nick and I had an interesting conversation earlier this morning, and I thought that it might be a good idea to have essentially the same conversation with you."

"Okay," she said cautiously.

"We were talking about all the consequences of my recommendation for the Lead CSI position.  One of the things I asked him was how he'd feel, how he'd react, if I didn't recommend him.  How would you answer that question?"

"I guess I'd want to know why.  I'd want to understand what you based your decision on," she answered.

"That's natural.  Would you accept the decision?"

"Would I have a choice?" she asked.

"Of course.  No one can make you accept anything.  You wouldn't be able to change the outcome, but you could determine how you feel about it."

"I'd survive," she answered with resignation.

"How would it impact things if I did recommend you?"

"What do you mean?  What things?" she asked warily.

"The Lead CSI would be working very closely with me.  Would that be a problem?"

"I hope not," Sara answered uncertainly.

"We've found it difficult, or should I say 'uncomfortable', to work closely together for very long in the recent past."

"I think that you're the one who felt that way, more than me," Sara argued.

"You're probably right," Grissom nodded.  "And I assume you know why."

"No, I don't know.  We seem to be able to work together really well for a while, then suddenly I'm persona non grata.  I never know why things change, what I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Grissom breathed out, now dreading the conversation all the more.  He'd hoped that she understood what had been his motive for periodically distancing from her.  The last thing he wanted to do was spell it out.

"Seems like it to me.  By the looks of things, I haven't done anything right for more than a year.  All things considered, I'm not really going to be surprised if you don't recommend me.  That's not saying I won't be disappointed, but I won't be surprised."

Grissom sat quietly, marshalling his thoughts.  So far, she had confirmed his fears about how she'd react to not being chosen as Lead CSI.  And she'd also revealed to him why her attitude was getting progressively worse.  

"Are we done here?" Sara asked, starting to rise.

"Not quite," Grissom answered as she sank back down into the chair, looking at him with an expression that he interpreted as an admixture of anger, disappointment, and hurt – all tempered with resignation.

"No matter what I decide to do, it'll just separate us even more," he said in quiet desperation.

"Bonus for you," she shot back, then exhaled before apologizing.  "Sorry.  I told you I was tired.  It's not a good time to talk about our, um, interaction."

"We need to talk about it now.  Once I make my recommendation, it'll be too late," Grissom said, his voice losing its strength at the last few words.

"Too late for what, Grissom?" Sara asked, challengingly, almost defiantly.

"Too late to fix this," he said, shrugging at his own inability to be more plainspoken.

"I wasn't aware that you wanted to fix it," Sara replied dryly.  "You certainly haven't given me any indication that it matters to you one bit."

"It matters.  I'm not sure I know what happened to make it worse."

"Oh, I don't know.  Maybe totally disrespecting me in front of my peers?  Could that be it?" she asked acidly.  "Or maybe giving Nick's and my case to Catherine because a freaking lowlife murderer wanted to talk to the 'pretty one'?  Just little things like that."

"I didn't mean for the things I did to come off as disrespectful.  I was just trying to get the job done.  But I could just as easily say that you were disrespectful to me," Grissom said cautiously.

"If expressing my values regarding the equality of victims is disrespectful, if questioning the wisdom of letting a suspect determine who investigates him and the course of that investigation is disrespectful, then yes, I was disrespectful.  I didn't equate respect with forfeiting my ethics."

"I don't expect you to forfeit your ethics, Sara," Grissom exhaled.  "But I don't expect you to confront me about them in front of everybody, either.  We could have had a civil conversation about it in private, but you chose to be confrontational."

"We weren't in private, Grissom!  You made your decisions and announced them without us having the benefit of a private discussion."

"It's not a democracy, Sara."

"I realize that.  But if you do something in front of everyone, you have to be willing to take the criticism in front of everyone, or at least be willing to listen to a dissenting opinion."

_Nick was right.  Everything she's said, everything she's apparently been brooding about centers on respect.  She almost left the lab a few years ago because she said I didn't respect her.  I didn't understand what she was saying._

"Sara, you probably won't believe me, but I do respect you.  Just because we disagree, just because I don't always decide things your way, doesn't mean I don't respect you."

"Is that what you think?  You think that I've got to have my way to feel respected?  That shows just how little you know me, Grissom," she said angrily, shaking her head.

"I don't know how to let you know I respect you.  You said a few weeks ago that you were always overtalking around me.  Well, I feel like I'm always undertalking around you.  I can't seem to say the right things, or say what I think the right way."

"You have a huge vocabulary, or you wouldn't be able to work those advanced crossword puzzles.  You have excellent grammar skills.  You've read poetry and literature extensively.  How is it you can't just tell me things in plain English?  It's not a lack of ability."

"Whenever I get around you, and I try to say what I'm thinking, or what I'm feeling, all the words evaporate."

"I was there, you know," she said cryptically.

"You were where?" Grissom asked, befuddled and lost at her sudden change of direction.

"In the observation room.  While you were interrogating Dr. Lurie.  I was there."

"Oh," Grissom said, looking away.  "I didn't know that."

"Were you talking about him?  Or were you talking about yourself?"

"I was interrogating a suspect," Grissom said firmly.

"I've heard you interrogate a lot of suspects.  I've never heard you be so passionate about it.  Besides, the interrogation was over."

"I don't know what to say," Grissom shrugged.

"Tell me if you meant it.  I need to know," she beseeched.

"Sara ..."

"Tell me!  Tell me if you meant it ... any of it.  You had the words then, talking to him.  I'm not asking you to repeat them – believe me, I have every word burned into my memory.  Just tell me if they're true."

"Yes, they're true," Grissom finally admitted, sighing deeply before looking up at her eyes, knowing what he'd see:  pleasure and pain.

"At last.  I finally got some answers, some closure.  I know how you feel, and I know why you'll never do anything about it."

Grissom heaved a sigh, closing his eyes.  "Sara ..."

"Forget it.  I understand.  Funny how in such a short amount of time, in so few words, really, you would make me feel so happy and so hopeless, all within a few seconds."

"I wish ...  I wish that I could ..." Grissom forced out, trying in vain to express to her that he, too, felt the passion and the hopelessness.

"I heard why you think you can't.  It's bullshit, of course, but you believe it, and that's all that really matters, isn't it?  But I heard the rest, too, and I'll have that forever.  You can't take that away from me.  You can take away my hope, and you can take away my career, but you can't take away the feeling I had when I heard you telling Lurie about someone coming into your life that you could care about.  You even said I was beautiful.  You've never said that to me.  We shared something, Grissom, even if we never experienced it."

"He killed her," Grissom hoarsely whispered.

"There are a lot of ways to die, and not all of them are physical."

Grissom looked up sharply, studying her.  He took note of all the changes in her since she had come to Las Vegas.  In syncopated flashbacks, he would see her grinning at him those first few months, full of life and energy, always excited to be around him, interspersed with the lifeless face in front of him now.

"He thought she loved him.  He believed her.  Maybe she did – for a little while.  But she was young and he wasn't.  He couldn't hold her interest for long.  It was the fantasy version of him, his position, his unattainability, which attracted her.  Once she had him, she found that the reality wasn't nearly as exciting as the fantasy, and she left him.  To her, he was just another guy in her past.  But she was the only woman he'd ever loved.  It devastated him."

"Grissom, you aren't Dr. Lurie, and I'm not Debbie."

"He and I aren't not so different, and you aren't so different from Debbie," Grissom answered back sullenly.

"Had they known each other for eight years?  Had they been through good times and bad with each other?  Besides, you aren't unstable like he is, and I'm not flighty like she was.  I know there are some parallels, but there are more important divergences."

"One thing I can't deny – if I ever had a relationship with you, and you got bored with it and walked away, I'd be just as devastated, just as humiliated.  Other than work, which you already share, there's nothing exciting in my life, nothing to hold your attention.  You're young, free-spirited, energetic.  How am I supposed to be able to keep you interested?  I can't take you out on dates, I can't make love all the time.  You'll be bored to tears in no time."

"What do you do at home?" Sara asked.

"Read.  Maybe watch a little TV, if there's something on that interests me."

"What the hell do you think _I_ do at home?  Throw wild parties?  Have Roman orgies?"

"No, of course not.  But that's because you're alone.  If you were with someone else, you'd expect more."

"You want to know what one of my favorite fantasies is about you?" she asked, a salacious grin spreading across her face.

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Grissom answered.

"Yeah, it's pretty racy stuff, so get ready.  Okay, we're lying on the couch together.  Umm, can you picture that?  Your blood pressure starting to creep up yet?  Our legs are intertwined, and it's warm and comfortable everywhere they touch. ...  Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?  We're lying at opposite ends, reading.  Sometimes we put our books or journals down and talk to each other about what we just read.  We smile at each other, glad to be with someone who appreciates the same things we do.  You can stop squirming now.  That's it;  that's all there is to the fantasy," she said almost bitterly.

"That's strange," Grissom mumbled, "I often have the same fantasy."

"I have some other fantasies, too, but we won't go into those," she grinned, looking down.

"Yeah, I think I have some of those, too," he agreed.

"There's this one with duct tape ..." she began, breaking into laughter.

"I love my work," Grissom breathed out, smiling.

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing.  You just reminded me of something that happened a long time ago.  A lifetime ago, I think."

"Something good, I hope.  It would be nice if something I said actually made you happy for a change," Sara said wistfully.  

"Sara, what's going to happen when I make my recommendation?" Grissom asked, bringing the discussion back full circle.

"I guess it depends on what your recommendation is," she shrugged.

"If I recommend you, and they give you the promotion, you know that we could never become involved."

"So?  I figure I have nothing to lose.  We aren't involved anyway, and I have no reason to believe that's going to change.  As a matter of fact, you've made it clear it won't change," she answered, the smile that had enlivened her face evaporating.

"If I don't recommend you, would you hold it against me personally?  Would it prevent you from ever considering a relationship?"

"Depends on why you don't recommend me.  If it's so that we could theoretically have a relationship, then, yeah, I think that would be wrong, because I don't think you'll ever do it in reality.  You'd be denying me professionally for personal reasons, then not even giving me anything in return."

"The reasoning behind not having office relationships is becoming increasing clear, isn't it?" he asked, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes, peering at her.

"The reasoning has always been clear, Grissom.  Unfortunately, my heart doesn't always listen to reasoning," she answered softly.

"You deserve to be promoted."

"I deserve a lot of things, I think.  Doesn't mean I'll get them," she shrugged unconvincingly.

"Sara, I wish you'd just tell me.  I wish I didn't have to ask you," he sighed.  "But, to be honest, I don't know if I really want to hear the answer."

"You want to know which is most important to me.  Is that it?"

"Yes."

"It's sort of a moot question, isn't it?" she asked, a pained expression twisting her features.

"Maybe not."

"Well, the way things stand right now, there are two things in my life that have any real impact on me:  my job, which brings me pleasure, and my feelings about you, which bring me pain.  Which would you choose?" she asked pointedly.

"I've been making that choice every day for years, for the same reasons.  But when the choice won't stay made, when it comes up every time the sun does, you have to wonder if you made the right choice, or at least if you made it for the right reasons," he revealed.

"Grissom, why don't you just say what you mean?  Are you going to make _me_ ask?  Do I really have a choice between the promotion and a relationship with you?"

"I can't answer that.  If I did, it could be construed as sexual harassment," he answered seriously.

"Wouldn't that normally work the other way?" she laughed.  "Wouldn't it normally be that the woman _gets_ the job in return for favors?  It so figures that in my life it would be just backwards."

Grissom smiled wanly, appreciating the position she was in, because he was in essentially the same one.

"Okay, I'm really tired.  Brain-dead.  Let me make sure I know my choices.  I could tell you that I want the promotion, and I'd still be in the running.  I could tell you that I don't, in the hopes that we can work things out, but with no guarantees.  Or I could withdraw my application so that you don't even have to decide.  Nick would get it by default.  

"I can so see Nick rubbing it in that he's a higher rank than me.  Damn!  That is so very wrong on so many levels!  I swear to God, Grissom, that if I have to put up with him and you shit all over me again, I'm going to go postal on you. ... But, you know he wouldn't be happy about it unless he actually beats me.  If I withdraw, it'll just cause other problems down the road."

"I've got to turn in my recommendation very soon," Grissom said heavily.

"Recommend Nick," Sara said, rising suddenly, turning toward the door.

"Are you sure?" Grissom asked, walking up behind her, standing so close that she could feel his warmth along every inch of her back.

"I'm sure.  I'm sure that I'm probably setting myself up for yet another in a long line of disappointments," she huffed, dropping her head as she shook it at her own insanity.

"I hope you aren't disappointed.  I'm not sure my fragile male ego could take it," he said, his voice seemingly dropping a full octave.  He lifted his hands, running them slowly up her arms, her shudder seemingly traveling through his hands to his own body.

"Take me home, Grissom," she whispered.  "I'm too tired to drive.  I just want to sleep, then lie on the couch and read all evening."

"That sounds nice," he agreed softly, next to her ear.  "Mind if I join you?"

"I'd like that," Sara said, turning to face him with a wistful smile, "But we better wait to see what Cavallo does.  Just because you recommend Nick doesn't mean he'll get the promotion.  What would you do if he gives it to me anyway?  You'd stop seeing me, wouldn't you?  I'd rather not even have a taste of the forbidden fruit if it's just going to be taken away."

"No one would have to know that we were seeing each other," he said huskily, stopping his hands' stroking motions to grasp her upper arms, pulling at her slightly.

"You'd know.  I'd know.  Catherine would figure it out in about two seconds.  Nick and Warrick about two seconds after that."

"You could turn down the promotion," he offered weakly.

"Oh, _that_ wouldn't seem suspicious!" she huffed.

"So, we're right back where we started," he exhaled, letting go of her arms and instantly missing the connection with her.

"Not exactly," she said with a smile that seemed strained.  "For the first time since I've gotten to Las Vegas, you've actually been honest about how you feel, and so have I.  Or at least as honest as we could be for the first time actually discussing it.  I think that's a step in the right direction, don't you?"

"Yes, I guess you're right," he answered, hazarding another brief stroke down the smooth skin of her arm, looking at what he was touching instead of her face, fearful of what she might see in his eyes.  "So what's the next step?"

"The next step is to stop wondering if there's going to be a next step," she answered distractedly.  "We need to worry more about getting back to being friends, being comfortable around each other, without worrying about what everything the other person says could mean."

"I've missed working with you," Grissom said wistfully.

"Me, too.  Let's just focus on getting that back for right now."

"I don't want to end up too late," Grissom said, just above a whisper.

"Grissom," Sara said soothingly, "For the past several months, I thought that you weren't interested.  A few weeks ago, I found out that you were interested, but afraid to do anything about it.  Now that we've drifted apart, you want to do something about it.  Your timing sucks, but it's not too late," she said, adding a smile to soften her words.

"Will you tell me what to do, and when to do it?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah," she laughed.  "For now, be my friend – my best friend.  If I get upset about a case, instead of telling me how wrong I am to feel that way, tell me that you understand how I feel.  You don't have to agree – just understand.  And if I don't get the promotion, don't be my boss and give me all the reasons why someone else got it.  Be my friend, hold me, and tell me that it's a shitty deal, but that you know I'll rise above it.  Accept me, even if you don't agree with me.  Is that too much to ask?  Will you do that for me?"

"I promise I'll try," Grissom said, nodding.  He realized that he had always felt like he had to counter her feelings to make them more manageable for both of them.  He could see now that she'd get past the those strong feelings faster if he just acknowledged them.  He finally understood what she meant by "respect."  Just knowing that put everything into a different perspective, and nothing seemed quite as unworkable and dangerous anymore.  He began to think that maybe, just maybe, one day he could make her happy.


End file.
